


Bellis Perennis

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, First Time, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-17
Updated: 2009-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke finds sanctuary at the Bennet house, becoming part of a family that's falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bellis Perennis

**Author's Note:**

> Bellis Perennis is the Latin for 'fields of war' and the scientific name for the common daisy. Many, many thanks to aurilly for the stellar beta work and to speccygeekgrrl for the reassurance.
> 
> Written for ashedrake for the Spring Fic Exchange at heroes_exchange.
> 
> Luke is 17 and Lyle is 16.
> 
> _Winner Best Luke/Lyle Fic (R-NC-17) at the Heroes Slash Awards Summer 2009_   
> _Runner Up Best Lyle Characterisation at the Heroes Slash Awards Summer 2009_

Luke turns up at the Bennets' door on a sunny Saturday afternoon; it's taken four days to get there. When he rings the bell, he hears the yap of a dog and a woman's voice calling, "Claire?!" Her heels click as she rushes to the door.

From behind her, another voice asks, "Mom, is it her?"

Luke's expecting the look of disappointment when she finds him and not this Claire, whoever she is, but not the kid who hovers at her shoulder. He cranes his neck to see down the hall, searching for someone other than a soccer mom and a little boy. Luke needs men that he can stand beside, with guns bigger than the government's, or someone he can hide behind with powers to rival Sylar's.

The woman takes a long look at Luke, at the cut on his temple and at the rumpled clothes he's been sleeping in, and blocks the doorway with her body. "Lyle, sweetie," she says over her shoulder. "Wait inside."

"Can I help you?" she asks cautiously.

"I'm Luke," he says as he holds up his cell phone. The text from Rebel reads: GO TO THE BENNETS IN COSTA VERDE, CA. YOU'LL BE SAFE THERE.

She purses her lips as she reads the message. A shiver of helplessness runs through him. This suburban hell is the last place Luke wants to be, but if they turn him away, he's screwed. Luke really has nowhere else to go. She hands back the phone and touches her fingers lightly to his forehead.

"What happened, honey?"

"Sylar," he mutters. Her eyes fly wide and, as if Luke's said the magic word, he's bundled inside.

 

***

 

Sandra sits beside him with a first-aid kit on her lap. Luke hisses through his teeth when the alcohol wipe stings him.

"I'm sorry," she says as she bandages him up. Luke thinks she might even mean it.

Lyle comes into the room, that annoying furball dog following at his heels. "All the doors are locked," he says. "Windows, too. Are you _positive_ Sylar didn't follow you?"

"Lyle," Sandra chides. "If he said he didn't, then I'm sure he didn't."

Luke can tell that no one quite believes that. There's an awkward silence and then, Sandra's scooping the dog up in her arms and ushering them out. "Lyle, show Luke the guest room. I'm going to call your father."

 

***

 

The guest room is small and neat with a bay window overlooking the drive. It smells like lavender, but Luke doesn't mind. It's a familiar scent that Luke remembers from summers spent at Grandma's house. The bedspread is floral and the frilly curtains, too. There's even a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the dresser. They're blue and purple to match the room and if Luke cranes his neck, he can see the flower beds that flank the front door directly below. Above the headboard, there's a framed portrait of that stupid dog Sandra's been toting around. It all seems weirdly Stepford, and Luke doesn't blame Claire for running away or whatever; all girls become their mothers and who'd want to turn into that?

Lyle's at the door with a stack of jeans and t-shirts. He's shorter than Luke and skinnier, too, all angles and elbows and rosy red momma's boy cheeks. Luke thinks his clothes will look ridiculous on him, but until he can steal something better, they'll have to do. He's pleasantly surprised to find the first t-shirt he grabs has _Led Zeppelin_ emblazoned across the front. The cotton is soft and thin, like Lyle wears it all the time. Luke wonders why he'd lend something he likes to someone he barely knows. When Lyle sees him hesitate, he only shrugs.

"It used to be my dad's," he says, like that explains anything.

While Luke changes, Lyle hovers at the window, eyes casting left and right, as if he expects to see Sylar sauntering up the drive. Lyle's jeans dig into Luke's waist and the hems are inches too short. The t-shirt fits well enough, stretching a little over the soft curve of his belly but sitting loosely on his hips and shoulders. Luke feels oddly self-conscious as he examines himself in the mirror. In Lyle's clothes, he looks even younger, like he's the hick kid with a Texas twang and Lyle's the one who's older than his years.

When Lyle turns around, the aborted laugh he snorts really doesn't help.

"So, how do you know Sylar?" Luke needles. It's a spiteful thing to say; Luke's seen how Sylar's name alone puts Lyle on edge. Lyle's jaw tightens instantly and his laugh becomes a cold, harsh bark.

"He tried to kill my sister," he says calmly. "And my dad, too. Nearly did kill my mom."

It's a strange kick in the gut to know that being left alive doesn't make Luke that special after all. Lyle's staring at him darkly, like he's daring Luke to press the subject, but all Luke can manage is a weak, "How'd they get away?"

"How'd _you_ get away?" Lyle counters. He gathers Luke's dirty clothes under one arm and taps two fingers on the Band-Aid at Luke's temple.

"Ow," Luke mutters, but Lyle's already gone.

 

***

 

In the hall, Luke passes Claire's bedroom. The door is standing open and all Luke can see are trophies and pom-poms and teddy bears. Everywhere he turns, there's a family photo shoved in his face, snapshots in simple frames cluttering every flat surface and dorky formal portraits on the walls. The Bennets have more pictures of Mr. Muggles on display, Luke thinks, than all the photos of him that have ever been taken.

The whole house gives Luke the creeps. He wonders who Rebel really is and how June Cleaver and The Beaver are supposed to keep him safe. He wonders if maybe this is Sylar fucking with him, wanting to see how long it takes for Luke to snap and off the people he failed to kill himself. Or if maybe Sylar's rounding them all up so he can finish the job with one fell swoop. Either way, Luke thinks it won't be long before the white picket fence out front is burning to the ground.

 

***

 

When Luke feels like he's on the verge of suffocating, finally bored of bouncing microwaves idly on his palm, he settles himself on the back porch. It's hardly the escape he hoped for; through the half-open kitchen window, he can hear Sandra on the phone.

"… that's not good enough, Noah!" she snaps. "Our daughter is missing. Runaways are turning up on our doorstep. We were held at gunpoint, and you think now 'isn't a good time' for you to come home?"

Luke doesn't think Mr. Bennet is gonna get laid anytime soon.

He looks up when Lyle comes to sit beside him. They stare out at the garden in silence, avoiding each other's eyes as Sandra rages on.

"What do I want?" she hisses. "I want to know that Claire is safe! I want you to be out there looking for her, Noah, not holed up in DC doing god knows what!"

With every accusation his mom hurls, Lyle flinches, teeth gritted and eyes scrunched shut. Luke thinks that maybe this is the first time Lyle's heard Mommy and Daddy fight. There's a part of him that wants to roll his eyes and tell him to stop being such a pussy because parents pull this kind of crap and there's nothing you can do, but there's another part of him that remembers hiding underneath the covers and wishing that all the screaming would stop.

Luke touches Lyle's knee.

"Hey," he says when Lyle looks up. "Wanna see my power?"

He expects more enthusiasm than a half-smile and a lazy shrug, but Luke's got his attention and that's good enough for now. He'll be impressed when he sees what Luke can do.

"Are you watching?" Luke whines, raising his hand and aiming his palm at a line of ants marching along the edge of the deck. Lyle only shrugs, again. With a frown, Luke nukes the bugs with more intensity than he'd intended. The wooden slats of the porch are scorched and the ants are steaming, desiccated husks, shrivelled in on themselves and tinier than they were before. It's not the most impressive thing he could have done, but the red waves pulsing from him looked pretty awesome and when he leans forward to peer at the damage, he notices that a thin curl of smoke is rising from the charred wood. A little more oomph and the house would've been in flames by now.

"Cool," he mutters, turning to Lyle with a grin. But Lyle's not grinning in return, not at all. He scowls as he gets to his feet, dusting off the ass of his jeans as he shakes his head down at Luke.

"Don't do that again," Lyle says quietly. "It's not cool; it's cruel."

He walks off without looking back, like he doesn't care that Luke could fry him while his back is turned just like he fried the ants. _Stupid kid_, Luke thinks but his chest feels heavy and his gut is all twisted up. Luke hasn't felt so much like shit since he realised Sylar wasn't coming back.

He nukes a passing butterfly, but even watching it fall, smouldering, to the ground doesn't make Luke feel better. He stomps around the garden, leaving brown patches in the lawn as his bad mood fries the grass in his wake. Luke doesn't want to be Lyle's friend, but, for some reason, he's pissed off that Lyle isn't trying harder to be his.

 

***

 

Luke doesn't realise how late it's gotten until he spots the moon high in the sky and Sandra is a shadowy figure, picking her way through the garden towards him. She hands him a sweater, his old brown hoody, fresh and warm from the dryer. Her eyes linger on the scars on his arms and Luke wonders what tales Lyle's been telling about him. He tilts himself away from her gaze and pulls the sweatshirt roughly over his head.

It's not like it was with Sylar; he doesn't want her to see.

With 2.4 kids and a picture perfect life, she wouldn't understand. She's just another pitying face, good for nothing but ripping off, exactly like every counsellor school sent after him. They don't really want to help; they only want to make themselves feel better so that when they're living out their Hallmark moments, they don't have to feel guilty about how unfair it is that they should be so lucky.

Luke steels himself for the inevitable stream of 'you poor thing' and outraged gasps, but it never comes. Sandra simply squeezes his shoulder gently. "Come inside. Dinner's getting cold."

 

***

 

The kitchen's warm and Lyle smiles when they shut the door behind them. Luke keeps his face carefully blank. He doesn't want to forgive Lyle, yet, for walking away.

Luke's used to eating TV dinners from the foil tray on his lap, fending for himself while his mom works, but here, there's a heaping bowl of homemade mac and cheese and three white plates on the table. It's weirdly nice to find that they've been waiting for him.

Sandra scoops the bowl up in her arms. "Lyle, honey, why don't you get us some sodas while I reheat this?"

Luke intercepts her, standing awkwardly between her and the stovetop, one hand sheepishly outstretched.

"Here, let me," he mumbles. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, ducking his eyes as he carefully nukes the food. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, chewing at his bottom lip as he waits for Sandra to react.

"Well," she says, looking from the now steaming warm mac to him and back again. "That's a handy ability!" And that's that. She dishes up big, heaping servings and over her shoulder, Lyle smiles at him. Luke pulls the sleeves of his hoody over his hands, twisting the fabric between his fingers as he grins back proudly.

Luke tries to sit, but Lyle slides up close behind him. His hand is firm as it curves around Luke's hip, palm warm and clammy as it presses to the exposed strip of skin where Lyle's jeans cut into his waist and his hoody has ridden up. In his ear, Lyle murmurs softly, "That's Claire's seat."

Luke swallows and glances at Sandra; she's babbling on about Mr. Muggles, but her neck is tense and her smile seems strained. She's staring determinedly down at the mac and cheese and Luke think her eyes look a little wet. When Lyle pinches him gently, nudging him to take the next seat down, Luke acquiesces. He bites back a sigh as Lyle pulls his hand away, resisting the urge to lean back into the fingertips that seem to linger at the small of his back.

They sit, all three, huddled at one end of the table. They talk a lot about nothing at all. Luke doesn't ask about Claire or Noah and they don't ask about his family or Sylar. No one mentions Rebel or why Luke's been sent there. By the time they're on dessert, Luke knows more about Mr. Muggles than any sane person should know. And yet, Luke finds that not all his smiles are false and not all his laughs are lies. When Sandra peers beyond them, sadly, at the empty end of the table, Luke drops his gaze to the ice cream in front of him and tries not to catch Lyle's eye.

 

***

 

In the morning, Luke follows his nose. The too-sweet smell of waffles and maple syrup leads him to the kitchen. Lyle and Sandra are already up, heads bowed in conversation. When Luke hovers awkwardly in the doorway, they break apart. There's a suitcase sitting in the front hall and Luke feels a momentary flutter of panic as he wonders if they're sending him away so soon.

"Luke, you're up!" Sandra beckons him into the kitchen and sits him down at the head of the table. Lyle pours orange juice for him and a stack of waffles is shovelled under his nose. It's making Luke twitch to have them fuss around him; it's a nervous tic that Sandra and Lyle seem to share and it leaves Luke feeling anxious. He can feel his power surging beneath the thin skin of his palms.

"Shoot!" Sandra says, glancing at the wall clock and double checking against her watch. "Lyle, I'm sorry but I have to go or I'll miss my flight."

"It's okay, Mom. I know," Lyle says, and when Sandra hugs him, really squeezing him tight, Lyle hugs her back instead of pushing her away as Luke would have done. "Claire's gonna be fine," he says, but Luke doesn't think he sounds so sure.

"I know, honey." Sandra ruffles his hair and kisses him on the forehead. Lyle's left with a faint smear of lipstick between his eyebrows and Luke ducks his head, turning his laugh into a cough when they both turn at the noise. Luke feels out of place, as if he's been caught eavesdropping on something he wasn't meant to see.

A car horn honks outside.

"That's the taxi," Sandra says. "Lyle, don't forget to give Mr. Muggles his pills. Luke," she says as she turns to him, "stay out of trouble."

She pats him on the shoulder and then, to Luke's surprise, gathers him up in her arms and hugs him just as tight as she hugged Lyle. Luke isn't sure what to do and his flailing arms have only just wrapped around her in return when the car horn sounds again and she's rushing away, pulling her coat tight as she steps out the door.

"You boys be good now, y'hear?"

Luke and Lyle stand in the doorway. She rolls down the cab window and calls, "I love you, Lyle."

"I love you too, Mom," Lyle says, without a hint of shame, not seeming to care that the whole neighbourhood could overhear. Luke shifts uncomfortably as Sandra waves goodbye.

"So, where…?"

"DC. To see my dad." Lyle's voice is flat; he double locks the door and bolts it. The sound of the deadbolt hammering home keeps Luke from asking any more questions.

 

***

 

They settle in the living room with Lyle's Xbox. Lyle is quiet and easy going, letting Luke pick the game and choose his player first. Luke picks a character who can throw flames from his hands. He melts Lyle's ninja assassin the first time they go head to head.

"I could totally do that right now," he gloats, holding up his palm to Lyle. But Lyle only snorts, unimpressed.

The more they play, the tenser Lyle seems. He glances at the phone constantly, eyes only half on the game. Hours pass but no one calls.

"My dad left too," Luke finally blurts out.

Lyle stares at him blankly and gruffly says, "My mom made mine go."

He does something quick with his controller and without a word, Lyle wins the game. It's only then that Luke realises Lyle's been letting him win.

 

***

 

Lyle's watching a rerun of _Home Alone_. He doesn't look up when Luke comes to sit beside him. In his lap Luke holds a bowl of unpopped popcorn. He licks salt and slick butter from his fingers.

"Watch this," he says, bumping his shoulder against Lyle's arm.

Lyle raises one sceptical eyebrow. "You know you're supposed to cook that before you serve it, right?"

His cocky expression is so much like Sylar's, Luke's chest feels tight. But where Sylar was cruel, Lyle is kind and his face splits into a wide grin.

"Show me," he says, unconsciously echoing Sylar's words. It's an offer, not an order, and yet, Luke's whole body still quivers to obey. He concentrates on his ability and ignores the raging white noise in his ears as his stomach flips and his groin feels hot.

The kernels start to pop, vibrating in the bowl. One or two jump up, pinging from one wall of the bowl to the other. Lyle laughs as he watches, not the sardonic, lazy sound from before but a genuine peal of surprised delight, and for the first time since they've met, Luke thinks he might have made a good impression. He watches as Lyle licks his lips and, while distracted, Luke lets out a pulse of microwaves far bigger than he'd intended.

"Fuck!" Luke yelps as popcorn explodes out everywhere.

It's all over him and all over Lyle, covering the sofa and the coffee table. Luke can see a few kernels rolling under the TV. His faces burns with shame and he tries to scoop the popcorn up, but it's covered, now, in lint and there are grease stains seeping into the fabric of the cushions.

There's an awkward pause as Lyle looks down at himself and around the room, and when he looks at Luke, Luke cringes instinctively back, expecting to be yelled at for making such a mess. To his surprise, Lyle only laughs that same seemingly sincere laugh. He leans in close; close enough to make Luke blush harder. His eyes are the brightest blue that Luke's ever seen. Luke doesn't know what he's expecting but he holds his breath all the same. Lyle plucks a piece of popcorn from Luke's hair and pops it in his mouth. "Not bad," he hums.

Then, he's leaning back again, out of Luke's personal space and whatever that moment was, it's passed. Luke holds the bowl tight to him, firmly planted over his crotch, and if Lyle notices anything amiss, Luke's grateful that he doesn't let on.

Lyle punches Luke lightly on the arm.

"Come on," he says. "We'd better clean up."

 

***

 

Monday morning comes too soon. Luke stands by the window, twitching back the curtain as he watches Lyle waiting at the bus stop. As the bus drives away, Lyle stares at him and smiles. Luke flushes bright red and turns away, embarrassed to be caught.

On the fridge, Sandra's left a mile long list of chores. There's laundry that needs doing and the kitchen sink is overflowing with dishes that neither of them had been bothered to wash the day before. Luke takes one look and shakes his head, _yeah right_.

He prowls around upstairs, pawing his way through Sandra's dressing table. Luke feels too guilty to do much more than finger her pearl earrings and shuffle through the bottles of perfume. He doesn't touch the absent husband's stuff. Claire's room is boring, filled with frivolous girly crap: cheerleading posters and clothes. He finds a flyer for the community college on her floor and flicks through it slowly. Luke's never been one for school, but maybe, he thinks, if he stayed… He shakes his head and drops the flyer. There's no point in pretending this life is his.

His heart pounds as he creeps into Lyle's room. Luke knows he has the house to himself, but still he looks over his shoulder as if someone might be watching. Lyle's room is a mess. The floor is strewn with notepaper and textbooks; the clothes Lyle wore the day before are a crumpled heap in the corner. Luke sits on the edge of Lyle's mattress, running his hands over the sheets Lyle kicked to the foot of the bed. Under Lyle's pillow, Luke finds the t-shirt and boxers he sleeps in. For a moment, Luke holds them in his fist, thumb stroking over the soft fabric and then he clears his throat and shoves them quickly back where they were before, ignoring the way his body responds to the thought of Lyle wearing so little.

When Luke opens Lyle's bedside drawer, a gun is the last thing he expects to find.

The only guns Luke's ever seen are the ones the government pointed at him. He weighs the revolver on his palm; Lyle has far more secrets than Luke could have imagined.

Mr. Muggles's bark behind him nearly makes Luke piss his pants.

"Holy crap!" he shouts. He spins on his heel and aims at the dog. But Mr. Muggles only yaps some more and Luke remembers Lyle's parting words as he rushed out the door: "Don't forget to feed the dog!"

"Okay, okay," Luke mutters, hands trembling as his racing heartbeat slows. He puts the gun carefully back in the drawer, wiping his sweaty hands on the seat of his jeans, _Lyle's_ jeans. When Luke lingers in the room, Mr. Muggles growls at him and nips at his ankles.

"Jesus Christ, all right! I'm coming!" Luke snaps before he remembers that he's talking to a dog.

In the kitchen, Luke fills the dog dish. He can't shake the memory of the gun, the feel of the cool metal against his skin, or the thought of Lyle's slim finger curled around the trigger. A shiver runs down his spine and Luke wonders, for the first time, why Lyle's the only Bennet Sylar never tried to kill.

In desperation, he rolls up his sleeves and starts on the dishes, trying to stop himself from thinking too hard about what he wasn't meant to find.

 

***

 

Late afternoon; Luke's in the backyard. 'Mow the lawn' is the only chore left to do. He's hauled the mower from the shed, but no matter what buttons he presses or levers he pulls, Luke can't get the goddamned thing to start. Under the California sun, it's hot in his hoody and sweat trickles down the back of his neck. He's been wrestling with the fucking mower for half an hour and he lets out a yell of frustration, kicking it hard and swearing when he only stubs his toes.

Luke collapses down on the grass on his back, fists squeezed tight in anger. He can feel his power stirring in his veins. He thumps his head against the grass; the petals of a daisy tickle his cheek and a thick cloud of dandelion dust rises up all around him. He sneezes hard.

The soft laughter that follows takes him by surprise.

"It needs more gas," Lyle says.

He's standing ten feet away in his soccer uniform, holding up a jerry can for Luke to see. Luke watches as he fills the tank and the mower rumbles into life. Lyle mows one wobbly stripe across the yard, then kills the engine and plops down cross-legged next to Luke, one knee nestled in the patch of weeds and wildflowers where Luke rests his head. The fabric of his gym shorts is a shiny, bright blue. It catches the light and makes Luke squint. Lyle's legs are long, with fine blond hair, and when Luke breathes out a sigh, Lyle's sitting close enough for the hairs to ruffle. He has an athlete's calves and biceps, and a healthy, golden tan. Luke shoves his hands in the front pocket of his sweater and turns his face away to stop himself from staring.

From beside his ear, Luke picks a dandelion that still has its head intact and brings it to his mouth. Someone---his mother? Samson?---once told him to make a wish. He purses his lips and blows, eyes fluttering shut, not really sure what he's wishing for except that this unexpected sense of peace he's found in Costa Verde never goes away.

They sit in comfortable silence, skimming their hands over the grass to the feel the blades run between their fingers. While Luke flicks his nails restlessly against the dandelions to make a mess, Lyle neatly picks a bunch of daisies from where they're growing in between the tangled weeds. From the corner of his eye, Luke watches Lyle as he slowly threads the flowers together, linking them stem by stem in quiet concentration. When he fits the last one in place and holds the loop up for Luke to see, he offhandedly says, "Hey... Don't snoop through my stuff again, okay?"

It's reflex for Luke to whine, "I didn't!"

And that's when Lyle snorts and shakes his head. Without a word, he drops the daisy chain on Luke's stomach and walks back inside the house.

For dinner, Luke nukes the leftover mac and cheese in the actual microwave and they eat it, sitting side by side, watching old reruns of _Friends_. Outside, the lawn is neatly mowed.

 

***

 

Sandra comes home but looks more stressed than ever. Claire is safe but Noah is gone. _Good riddance_, Luke thinks. From what he's heard, the Bennet dad is just as bad as any other. But one glance at Sandra's brittle smile is enough to have him bite his tongue. He's seen that look on his own mom's face, when money's tight and the child support is late, and Luke has to shoplift candy bars if he wants to eat anything that isn't rice and beans.

Lyle gets a t-shirt that reads 'I ♥ DC'. Luke's snicker dies in his throat when Lyle strips off and puts it on in the middle of the kitchen, toned stomach rippling as he pulls the fabric over his head. Lyle turns this way and that, modelling for his mom. The thin cotton pulls across Lyle's chest, highlighting how broad his shoulders are despite his height, and Luke has to cough to clear his dry throat; somehow Lyle manages to make even a dorky t-shirt seem sexy.

Luke tries to excuse himself before he embarrasses himself, but Sandra calls, "Hang on, Luke."

Luke isn't expecting anything; after all, what is he to them? But, Sandra plonks a huge bag on the table and nudges Luke towards it. "Go on," she urges. "Have a look."

The bag is filled to the brim with clothes: three pairs of new jeans and a bunch of long sleeved t-shirts to cover his scars. Luke fingers the cotton. It's thin enough to be cool even in a California summer. Everything's in muted shades of green and brown, neutral colours that Luke likes to wear. His chest feels tight to think that in the midst of all the shit she's going through, Sandra stood in the men's department in some DC store and thought about what Luke might like. There are other things as well, things that only moms think about, like socks and underwear, a new toothbrush and a comb.

"Oh," Sandra says. "These too."

She hands Luke a shoebox containing brand new sneakers to top it all off. He pulls the tag from the neck of a t-shirt. The clothes aren't expensive but it's more than anyone's thought to spend on him before.

"I…" he tries and trails off, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. He finds it hard to meet Sandra's expectant smile.

Sandra whips a pair of jeans from the bag and holds them to his waist. "I had to guess your size," she says. "I hope they fit."

Luke hopes he isn't expected to try them on then and there.

"They look perfect," he manages. "Thanks."

"Don't be silly." Sandra gently squeezes his arm. "We couldn't have you running around in Lyle's old things all the time."

 

***

 

Luke wears his new clothes to dinner. Sandra coos and fusses around him, Mr. Muggles for once taking a backseat in her attentions. Sitting at the kitchen table, Lyle grins up at Luke as Sandra makes him spin around so she can inspect him from all angles. Luke smiles back, suddenly shy, not sure if he's being laughed at.

Over dinner, Lyle talks about school, about a test in Algebra he thinks he flunked and a kid in Civics who's pretending to be a hardcore Communist to piss their teacher off. Lyle tells Sandra about the popcorn in the living room and in the retelling, it doesn't seem so embarrassing anymore. It takes Luke by surprise that something as mundane as dinner should be so much fun.

Then, Sandra's cell rings.

"Claire?!" she says desperately as she answers. There's a half a beat pause and then, "Noah?"

Sandra rushes out to take the call. Lyle follows without a backward glance at Luke. All alone at the table, it shouldn't hurt so badly to be reminded that this family isn't his.

 

***

 

It's late, really late when Lyle finds Luke sitting on the porch. Luke expects a "Hi" or a "Sorry" or at least a grunt of acknowledgement, but Lyle doesn't make a sound. He sits heavily next to Luke and the silence between them seems awkward.

"So what'd he do?" Luke asks.

"What?"

"Your dad; what'd he do? They all do _something_. That's why they run away."

Lyle doesn't say anything and doesn't look at Luke. Luke wonders if whatever it is could really be that bad or if it just seems that way to Lyle because Lyle's dad is the one who did it.

"Mine used to like to hit my mom," he offers. _And me,_ he thinks, but doesn't say. "And then one day he got bored with that and left."

Lyle nods tersely. In the darkness, Luke scowls. He thinks a confession like that deserves a bigger reaction.

"Mine's a consultant," Lyle says.

Before Luke can ask what the hell that means or why it matters, a manila folder is slapped against his chest. Lyle's staring at him with hard, challenging eyes, so Luke flicks it open. It's filled to overflowing with pictures of him and pictures of Sylar, pictures of him _and_ Sylar eating pie at the diner. There're close-ups of Agent Simmons's body and the carnage that Sylar left when he rescued Luke. A profiler's report is shuffled in between the photos: _Luke Campbell is a highly dangerous young man. Sadistic and violent with impulsive tendencies. He's a natural follower, very susceptible to strong male figures…_

Luke can't stomach to read the rest, not when Lyle's looking at him like that.

"Did you do that?" he asks, stabbing his finger at the picture of Simmons's bloated corpse.

Luke wants to say no, to say that it wasn't his fault or his idea. He wants to lie and say that Sylar made him or tell the truth and say that Sylar did the worst. Instead, he finds himself simply saying, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" Luke wails, but that isn't quite true. "Because I can," he adds miserably.

Lyle draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around himself. Between them, on the deck, the file lies open and the photos are scattered. Luke doesn't have the strength to cover them up.

Sadly, Lyle says, "That isn't right."

"I know."

 

***

 

When the house is quiet and Luke is sure that everyone's in bed, he sneaks into Claire's room and steals a duffle bag from under her bed. It's her varsity cheerleading one, bright blue with her high school mascot on the side: Costa Verde Conquistadors. He stuffs it full of his new clothes. He packs Lyle's jeans, too-small though they are, but folds the _Led Zeppelin_ t-shirt neatly, smoothing out the front as he leaves it on his pillow for Lyle to find.

In the darkness of the living room, Luke scrabbles through Sandra's handbag, looking for cash and her car keys. He won't get far in a stolen car, but he can go a few hundred miles before morning when they report it missing. In his haste, he knocks the bag over, lipstick and odds and ends scattering across the wooden floor.

"Shit," he mutters, bending down to scoop it all up. When he stands, he feels the hard press of a gun barrel at the small of his back.

The table lamp clicks on.

"Luke?!" Lyle hisses. His hands tremble as he holds the gun. His hair sticks out every which way. He's wearing the boxers and t-shirt Luke found earlier and even bleary eyed and suspicious, Lyle looks twice as good as Luke imagined.

"Lyle." Luke keeps his hands up, watching Lyle's expression morph from surprise to something darker as he sees the keys in his hand and the duffle bag on his shoulder.

Lyle kills the light and drags Luke into his father's study.

"You're leaving?" he demands, under his breath as soon as the door is shut.

"Isn't that what you want?"

Lyle's desperate, definite, "No!" isn't what Luke's expecting.

There's a thick pause as they eye each other in the low light of the room.

"What about my mom?" Lyle spits.

"What about her?"

"You think she doesn't have enough problems without having to worry if you're okay?"

Luke's shocked and shamed into silence. The thought that someone might _worry_ about him isn't one that's ever crossed his mind. Luke isn't the kind of person that people care enough about for that.

"Were you even going to leave a note?" Lyle presses. "Anything at all? Huh?"

Luke shrugs, confused and on guard and not really sure why Lyle isn't kicking him out after what he's found out.

"You think you can just turn up and have us take care of you and then you can fuck off without saying goodbye?" Lyle's fists are balls at his sides and face is flushed with anger.

"Lyle…" Luke tries but Lyle cuts him off.

"No! Shut up, Luke!"

Lyle shoves him hard. Without thinking, Luke shoves back; with a half-grunt, half-growl, Lyle shoulders Luke back against the wall, expression barely registering Luke's yelp of pain as his head smacks against the plaster. Lyle grabs him by the biceps, squeezing hard enough to hurt and when Luke tries to throw him off, Lyle darts forward and mashes their mouths roughly together.

When Luke parts his lips, that's when it becomes a kiss.

They make out messily, Luke clutching Lyle's hips to drag him closer. It's frantic and violent and nothing like what Luke's seen in the movies. He doesn't know what he's doing and it doesn't seem like Lyle knows either; their teeth clack and Luke's lips feel bruised. Lyle's tongue in his mouth is enough to choke him. But Luke's hard, and so is Lyle, straddling his thigh and rutting against him. They grind together, grunting. Lyle's fingers thread through his hair and pull too hard. Luke slips his hand down the back of Lyle's boxers.

The wet patch Luke can feel spreading across his hip as Lyle shudders in his arms is enough to make him come, too. Lyle rests against his shoulder, his nose tucked under Luke's chin and he's holding Luke so tight, he can barely catch his breath. Lyle's puffing ragged, heaving pants against Luke's neck, and if Luke listens close enough, he thinks Lyle's trying to hold back a sob. He folds his arms around Lyle's middle and hugs him back, grateful for the wall behind him when Lyle sags into his embrace. Luke's never had someone cling to him before; never had someone who wanted him to stay not go and he's not sure what he's supposed to do. Ignoring the uncomfortable stickiness that's cooling in the front of his jeans, Luke strokes Lyle's hair and whispers, "I'm sorry," like he always wanted someone to do for him.

Slowly, Lyle seems to pull himself together, inching back to glance timidly up at Luke.

"Uh…" Lyle stammers, shuffling his feet. He drops his gaze and looks everywhere but at Luke. It's awkward in a way that Luke doesn't understand. His stomach clenches as the silence stretches on and he waits for Lyle to say something, anything, that lets Luke know that that was okay.

Lyle reaches out to finger the damp denim between them, hand snapping back when Luke sighs at the weak twitch his cock gives under Lyle's caress. Luke grabs his wrist and guides him back. "S'okay."

They both watch Lyle's fingers play over the crotch of Luke's jeans, tracing the outline of the stain and the shape of his still half-hard cock beneath. Eventually, Lyle clears his throat. "I'm sorry about your new jeans," he says, with a sheepish smile.

Luke laughs and pulls him into another hug as relief courses through him. He kisses the top of Lyle's head, and then tilts his chin and kisses Lyle's lips, slower now, more affectionate. He pets Lyle's hair to hear him sigh contentedly.

"Were you really going to shoot me?" Luke asks.

"No… Maybe. I don't know," Lyle mumbles into his neck. He glances at the gun where he'd dropped it on the corner desk. "I don't even think it's loaded. It's my dad's. I found it when he left… after Claire… Someone needs to protect this family."

He stares up at Luke with fierce eyes and Luke doesn't know if it's a warning of what Lyle would do if he has to, or if Lyle's pleading for Luke to be that someone.

"If you aren't going to throw me out, then why did you show me that file?" he asks softly, fingers still carding soothingly through Lyle's hair.

"I don't like lies," Lyle whispers. "No more lies."

"No more lies," Luke agrees.

He doesn't know how long they stand there in each other's arms, holding one another because they don't know what to say. When Lyle finally pulls away, he grabs Luke's hand and tugs him along.

"Come on. We should do some laundry before Mom wakes up."


End file.
